Quiet
by mandaree1
Summary: Ingrid Third was quiet. Not shy, not stuck-up; quiet.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Fillmore!**

**Title: Quiet**

**Summary: Ingrid Third was quiet. Not shy, not stuck-up; quiet.**

**Authors Note: I'm pretty sure their was more to it when I was thinking about this, but I can't remember it now. I wrote it months ago. Oneshot!**

**Warnings: None**

**...**

Ingrid Third was quiet. Not shy, not stuck-up; quiet.

She wasn't shy. She wasn't one of those kids who weren't sure when and where to say things and was afraid of saying the _wrong_ thing. No, she was quite confident with her speech capabilities, and, if the need arose, was more than able to walk to the front of a classroom and give a speech without breaking a sweat. She wasn't shy.

She wasn't stuck-up. She didn't believe she was better than anyone else or that she was _above_ talking. She was down to earth and well aware of the fact that she _wasn't_ perfect. She wasn't stuck-up.

She was quiet. It wasn't a matter of fear or superiority, but instead a matter of personal preference. She said what she had to say and that was about it. And sure she had her moments where she found herself needing to babble, but otherwise she was content to keep her mouth shut and listen.

And when she was with friends, she wasn't quiet. She talked about aimless, fun things, just like every other kid on the planet. It was when she was in public, not knowing who all may or may not be listening that she was quiet. She'd learned from a young age that being talkative just didn't suit her, especially with how not many actually _understood_ what she was saying.

She wasn't a nerd. She was smart, surprisingly so, and understood everything a nerd said, but she was too quiet to be a true nerd. Nerds corrected teachers, bragged about good grades, proclaimed their higher intelligence to all that would hear through their ways of speech and action. Ingrid didn't do that. She sat through classes, did the work, turned it in. She was like every other student, only she hesitated to show others her report card with they went on about how smart they were with their B's and knew they might be insulted with her straight A's. And while she didn't mind them being insulted, she _did_ mind the accusations of cheating.

Sometimes, her lack of words bothered him. It wasn't often. It was nice to be able to sit next to someone at lunch and not have to worry about them randomly blathering about something he didn't know much about. He was the one who brought up non-work conversations, and the ones he didn't (which were arguably the more interesting and longer of discussions) were things they both found interesting and had fun with. It was nice to know that if he told her a secret she'd keep it to her grave instead of standing up on the lunch tables and shouting it to the entire student body like a few of his old 'friends' had. It was nice to sit next to someone after a long case and mutter _'dawg'_, and the only response being a head nod of short comment and then thy could just sit and be _quiet_. No fuss, no muss. It was hard to find companionship like that.

But... sometimes he didn't _want_ quiet. He wanted something, _anything_, other than it.

The times he slipped a little on the slippery slope and did something bad, something that could easily get him expelled. It wasn't often, but when he went wrong, he went _wrong_. The times when he sat in his chair, head hanging, knowing that it was only a matter of time before a little bit of his bad-boy past that he'd left in the ground would be dug up and shoved in his face, or the times he knew that it was only a matter of time before his debt went _up_ a few zeros. Ingrid just watched, green eyes like ice- with no emotion crackling beneath them like normal- just ice-, the anger and disappointment her knew was building inside her being pushed away for a later date. Normally, she never said much about it. She didn't have the right, she'd said once, she was just as bad, if not worse.

The times_ she_ slipped up which were arguably more often and worse than his own. Ingrid never truly got used to being an ex-delinquent, and many of the things she used to do without a second thought were forever barred off from her. It was only natural that she'd do something wrong, and often. He was only_ just_ getting used to the restrictions himself. The times when _she_ was leaning on the edge, a good part of her wanting to resist, but the habit of getting in trouble was hard- almost impossible- for her to break. Those times when she gave him a_ look_ that told him that part of her honestly didn't think she was cut out to be a safety patrol officer. She never said a word, and part of him wished she did.

The worst time, though, had to be one of those few times they were made at each other. After all the arguments and the snapping, all that was left was a dead quiet office filled with the sound of computer keys clicking as she sent in a report as the others uneasily typed, watching them from the corner of their eyes. He didn't say anything, and neither did she.

He didn't want her to change or anything. Ingrid Third was Ingrid Third, and she'd never be anyone or anything else. Asking her to change would be like asking the sun to change colors. It'd_ never_ happen. And he was glad it wouldn't, he liked her the way she was.

Just... sometimes he wished she was a little louder, is all.

**No flames! Don't like don't read! Review!**


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